


In the Realm of the Gods

by boltlightning



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Cloud-centric, Gen, Pre-Kingdom Hearts I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-16 04:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 8,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2255421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boltlightning/pseuds/boltlightning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the fall of Radiant Garden, Cloud spends nine years trapped in an ancient city. And when in Greece, you do as the Greeks do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. apollo

**Author's Note:**

> This has been written for months, and a good deal of it is already on ff.net. It'll be uploading in daily increments here, so I'll get it all up before I manage to upload everything on the other site.
> 
> Anyway, I keep the universes of KH and FF incredibly separate, so if this sounds unfamiliar to those who have played FF7, it's supposed to be. There's just no practical way for me to include SOLDIER and the rest of Cloud's past in here without massively straying from KH canon, so I took some different directions. Bear with me here.
> 
> Each chapter correlates to one major Greek god/goddess - the Olympians are all included here, along with Hestia and our main man Hades. So here you go. Enjoy.

The sky isn't normally that color.

Slowly, he starts to wake, but all he can see is this iridescent sky. It's more the color of water than it is the sky, but the golden clouds floating on the breeze tell him it's not the sea. He's never seen it that shade. The sky in the Garden is always pastel colors, easy on the eyes. This sky is vivid, luminescent, entrancing. He admires the color for as long as he can, his mind blank and body numb.

In the distance, he can hear music. The singing is paired with a gentle sort of string instrument, and Cloud frowns. Suddenly, everything hits him at once - his body stirs slowly, the gears in his mind gathering speed until he can process his surroundings.

This isn't Radiant Garden at all.

He snaps upright, eyes trying to take it all in at once. His head spins from whiplash, his neck aches in protest. He's in a back alley of some sort, in a pile of hay. The city even smells foreign, though not entirely unpleasant. He attempts to stand, his head swimming; his joints object, throbbing like mad, but he eventually manages to struggle to his feet. Woozy is the only word he can think of using to describe his current state. Cloud staggers, leaning against one of the brick walls. He's gasping, the weight of this new discovery refusing to process.

He pats down his pockets, only to find that his potion pocket was shredded. He's still got munny, sure, but what good will that do him here? Cloud closes his eyes, but regrets it immediately. Visions of the night before swim to the brim of his mind - all he can see in the dark is glowing yellow eyes and the red emblem branded all over the crumbling castle. The vertigo is almost overwhelming.

When he opens his eyes again, there's a man standing there. "C'mon, kid, get a move on!" he grunts. There's a raven sitting on his shoulder that squawks in a very similar manner. "That's my hay you're standing on there."

Cloud hesitates, but steps out of the way before asking, "Do you know where we are?"

The man snorts; the raven copies him. "Why, kid, this is none other than Thebes!"


	2. demeter

He's picked a good time to get dumped in the city of Thebes; the harvest had been overflowing, and there were festivals to celebrate everywhere in town.

Cloud sneaks through the city, painfully aware how he sticks out. He lost his cloak in the invasion, but he's still wandering around in his sleeveless turtleneck sweater and pants - and even though he's wearing his thin leather boots for summer, it's still way too hot for him. The people of Thebes have the right idea - loose, light-colored tunics, open-toed shoes, no unnecessary accessories unless their social class called for it. The Garden always had mild summers and harsh winters; it never got too warm there.

He's a fish out of water, and he's gasping for breath. Cloud's spent the last few days hiding in the shadows to regain his strength, but his stomach eventually complained of being filled with nothing but what water Cloud could scrounge up. So today, he's in the marketplace, watching the citizens to see how he could get some food. He'll steal if he needs to, but he doesn't want a reputation here.

He has his eye on a vendor, and is surprised to find that the money they exchange is the same currency he's got burning a hole in his pocket. He pulls the orbs out and counts them frantically - 203 munny is his grand total. Not a lot, but enough for a meal.

His stomach grumbles with anticipation. He's aware he looks awful; there's mud and blood crusted in the slashes of his clothes, and he's limping a little. He approaches the fruit vendor with his pitiful handful, held in hands covered in ripped, fingerless gloves. "As many figs as you can give me," he requests, his voice trembling and hoarse. The vender eyes him warily, but takes the munny without a word. He hands Cloud five figs and his change and shoos him away with a firm wave of his hand.

Cloud knows in the back of his mind he should've kept some of the munny (he's only got 3 little pieces left), but at the moment he doesn't care too much. He hides in a back alley and has himself a meager feast, his stomach still unsettled but appeased for the moment. Content, he watches a farmer herd his pigs down the street.

He's survived for the day, but he's only been here a few hours. Still, he can't afford to stay stagnant - it could cost him his life. And he doesn't want his thoughts drifting back to the events at Hollow Bastion.


	3. hermes

Perhaps it's a result of hanging around Cid, but Cloud finds he has a knack for navigation.

His mental map of Thebes consists of markers like "the stable with the pretty mare" or "that one fruit stands that sells honeydew". It's incredibly accurate and detailed, if colloquial, and it gets the job done.

Through observation, he discovers that merchants and vendors are far more cooperative if you don't raise any red flags. Cloud keeps busy in his attempts to blend in. His hair would never cooperate and his fair skin has never tanned in his whole life, so he works on his attire. He takes some clothes off a line when someone leaves them out to dry in the scorching sun, and he makes use of his sparse money and gambles a kid out of his sandals. They're dirty tactics, but he's already fought for his life once - the guilt sort of rolls off his shoulders.

He makes a bag out of some of the ill-fitting tunics, and he fills that bag with his clothes from the Garden. (Despite this, he uses his belt from the Bastion to cinch around his waist.) He keeps it tucked securely in the alleyway he's claimed as his temporary home, hidden from sight under a broken piece of a cart.

Now all he has to offer in exchange for food is his services, so he works odd jobs.

It's anything from shoveling horse shit to keeping an eye on a rowdy dog. Cloud steadily earns a slow trickle of money from his work, along with enough food to keep his stomach happy. He finds, though, that most of the vendors really just need someone to deliver messages.

As a result, he spends days sprinting back and forth across the city. It's quite a workout.

Still, it gets him paid, and has just enough notoriety to keep business reasonable. Cloud allows himself to dwell on his home only after a day full of hard work. He makes a mental note to thank Cid for installing his mental cartography.


	4. athena

Whatever magic deposited him in Thebes was the same magic that allowed him to talk to the Thebans, but it didn't translate their writing very well.

On good days, when he's well-rested, the Greek symbols on the vendor carts are relatively easy to decipher. The characters seem to wobble when he looks at them too long, shifting between the Common Language of the Garden and Greek as if wavering in the hot sun. The answer to this problem is found when a law enforcer grabs Cloud by the scruff of his neck and tosses him into a public school, claiming he was skipping mandatory class.

Cloud isn't enrolled in this school, but the teacher doesn't seem fazed. She points to a rickety desk in the back, and Cloud slides into it cautiously. The day is mostly spent learning about their gods, and then class is released for a lunch break.

He's trapped in the schoolyard, looking for a way out, when someone throws a stick at him. His instincts immediately react, snatching the projectile from the air and glaring in the direction of whoever tossed it.

A lanky, snotty kid about his age is standing there, grinning. He waves his wooden sword at Cloud.

"New kid's gotta prove himself," the kid says. "Fight me!"

Cloud looks at the weapon he had caught; it's been carved into a crude sort of sword. He'd trained back in the Garden. This should be a piece of cake. It's been a while since he's sparred with someone, but his muscle memory comes back full force; it isn't long until he's pressing the end of his wooden stick into this kid's throat, standing in stifling silence in a crowded schoolyard.

"Am I proven?" he can't help but ask, and the kid nods, his eyes the size of saucers. Cloud drops his weapon and walks away. The crowd parts for him, but another kid stops him before he can leave the courtyard.

"You've gotta teach us, man," he says, extending a hand. "I'm Heli." Cloud takes his hand cautiously, shaking it once firmly before letting go. "You don't fight like anyone I've ever seen, not even at the Coliseum. No Greek fights like that."

Cloud hesitates. "And maybe you can teach me to fight like a Greek."

"We have a combat instructor in school," he answers, still grinning, "but sure!"

Cloud is, after all, just 15. It'll be good to stay in school, won't it?

As he walks back to his little hovel at the end of the day, after running messages for a few hours after class, he finds that the experience wasn't so bad. In the nighttime, the owls flutter down onto the buildings and watch him, but he doesn't mind the birds anymore. He's getting used to Thebes. He doesn't know if he wants to make friends here, but it'd at least benefit him to keep going to school. Even by torchlight, the Greek changes more easily to the Common Language, and it'd be nice to be able to read something again. And he's eager to restart his sword training.

Besides, what would Lord Ansem say if he knew Cloud was skipping school?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> took a few liberties with this chapter - namely when it comes to the education system in ancient greek. cut me some slack, wouldja?


	5. aphrodite

_Dear Aerith,_

_I wish I could put this letter down on paper, but they don't have any of that here. Stone tablets and chalky writing is all we've got, that's how backwards this place is. So I'm writing this in my head, and hopefully in my heart. Lord Ansem said that our hearts are connected to those we care about, right? So maybe you'll get this letter. I hope so._

_I also hope that you're with everybody else. Being alone is awful. Sometimes I don't talk for days because no one really asks me anything. I have a few acquaintances in the marketplace, but we don't talk much. Not like_ we _used to. I miss the old days, which is kinda stupid of me to say because I'm still only 16. Still, I'm pretty sure I've seen more than any 16-year-old ought to see. Cut me a break. But I do miss Radiant Garden. It's hard for me to remember it sometimes._

_It's probably just a result of homesickness, but I dream a lot. Daydreaming, too. Sometimes I'll see flashes of pink or green, or I'll see a skirt that looks like yours turning a corner, but when I go to look there's no one there. There were two sisters in the marketplace that I honestly thought were Yuffie and Tifa until I looked closer. I'll hear Cid's voice sometimes, but it won't be him. There's a kid at school who looks exactly like Squall. My mind likes to play tricks like that. It's pretty horrible._

_My night dreams are really different, though. Often times it'll just be us together in that old rickety church down near the castle - do you remember that place? There's flowers everywhere, and most of the time we'll just sit in there together and talk or water the flowers or something. It's nice. But do you remember that swordsman we all heard about for years? The silver-haired one with the wicked long sword? He shows up now and then, and I can't explain it. Except now, he's got a wing - it's black and feathered, like a raven's. Did he always have that wing?_

_Sometimes, he kills you with that sword, emerging from the shadows while you're praying. I wish I knew what it all meant. He's ruining my dreams, but I can't even think of his name, it's been so long. Why is he back?_

_I guess I'm sort of glad I have no confirmation that this letter will get to you. I'll try to write more. Reply if you can. I don't know why, but I have this feeling that you're still alive, despite what the dreams are telling me. I can't really explain it, but it's almost like I can sense you, even if you're far on the other side of the universe. Do me a favor and stay away from danger, alright? That way at least one of us is in the clear._

_-Cloud_


	6. hestia

The Heartless find him with a vengeance.

Cloud's used to picking off the weak Shadows and Soldiers that lurk around the alleys sometimes, but he's cornered by these massive Shadows now. They stand nearly as tall as he, and they silently loom over him, bulging yellow eyes watching him with the intensity of a hawk. He's dripping blood, his wounded arm held tight against his person. In his other arm is a sword he'd picked up from a vendor; the marketplace was empty now. They'd all gotten the message and fled.

One leaps and he raises his sword instinctively. The claws catch on the metal and Cloud shoves it back, parrying the attacks from its brothers and fighting to gain the upper hand. He stabs one through the midsection desperately, using both hands to twist the blade, dragging it this way and that; he's satisfied to see it disintegrate, dark dust floating to the ground. Cloud turns to the other three, who are slinking around him in a manner that makes it impossible to keep them all in his field of vision.

He leaps backwards suddenly, and the Heartless pursue. Cloud runs, adrenaline keeping his legs pumping, until he gets into a clearer area near the edge of town. The Shadows jump on him as soon as they can; Cloud shoves them off and does what he can to keep them at bay, but he knows he's fighting a losing fight.

Just as he's planning on running again, something whistles by his cheek. It skims his ear and cheek, but the bullet meets its final target without breaking stride. The Heartless before him survives two more bullets before it goes down, and its brethren meet similar fates. Cloud pauses, drawing in gasping breaths before turning to see his savior.

A man in a red cloak stands on the opposite side of the plaza, quickly holsters his gun, and takes a few steps forward before tossing something in Cloud's direction. He drops his sword catching it; it's an elixir.

"Come with me," he says without preamble, and turns to walk away. Cloud guzzles the elixir, not even tasting its bitter tang, and follows as the medicine works its magic. The man climbs the steps to a hut-like home near the edge of the city and pauses before opening the door.

"You aren't of this world," he says. Cloud shoves his sword in the belt around his waist.

"You aren't either," Cloud retorts. The man faces him. In the setting sunlight, his eyes appear maroon. Cloud chalks it up to the effect the cloak has on his coloring. "Why did you save me?"

The man shrugs, a barely noticeable motion. "You needed help." He opens the door to the house, and gestures Cloud forward vaguely with a sweep of his arm. It doesn't emerge from beneath the cloak, but Cloud sees a flash of gold beneath it. He reminds himself this guy is probably armed and dangerous, but a fluttering in his heart encourages him to trust him.

"Cloud," he introduces himself, nodding to the man as he steps forward. He nods back curtly.

"Vincent."

That night, Cloud sleeps in a home, the first home he didn't have to rent in four years. He doesn't notice it's set up like a Radiant Garden home until he sinks into an armchair and a familiar scent of lavender surrounds him. It nearly brings tears. Luckily, Vincent had vanished the second Cloud made himself comfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh, a familiar face! vincent will be sticking around for a while, so worry not.


	7. ares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fair warning: these chapters coming up do get more violent. there's nothing too extremely specific, but if it starts to make you queasy, i'm apologizing in advance.

It's only natural that Vincent is the first person who takes Cloud to the Coliseum, as he's started overseeing Cloud's training.

Even with Cloud's Theban clothing, Vincent sticks out like a sore thumb. They attract stares as they enter the arena, standing on the top tier of seats rather than sitting among the people. It takes a while for the battle to start; the crowds flood the stone bleachers, chattering at the volume of a deafening roar before some magic seals the arena off with an invisible force field, and the contenders take their places.

As if on cue, the crowds stand and cheer for their favored party. They're both decked out in full Greek armor; the larger one has a breastplate the color of blood, covered in ornate black embellishing. His grieves are similarly covered, and his backplate has a huge carving of a fierce dragon. The plume of his helmet is stark black, and barely shifts as the warrior turns to greet the crowds, his sword in hand. The other is sleeker, slimmer; his armor is bathed in a dark green hue, the color of forests and foliage. His plume matches the color, and this warrior smiles and waves at the crowds rather than boasting as the other one does.

A man by the gates announces the start, and they charge. It's bloody from the get-go. The Greeks are used to fighting solo, so they are both ruthless, giving no regard for defense as they hack at the other, whirling around in a deadly dance.

"See how they don't protect themselves?" Vincent says from his left, his eyes never leaving the battlefield. "There's openings everywhere, but they don't have sufficient defense to risk it."

He's unusually chatty today, Cloud thinks, but he'd been noting the same things. Green has a habit of dodging rather than blocking, whereas Black is such a trucking force that he doesn't even need to block. Black slams his sword into the side of Green's helmet with all the power he has in his arms; there's a resounding clang! and Green staggers, feeling his helmet where the steel has bitten into it. He's bleeding and disoriented, and with another slash from Black, he falls to the ground, scrambling backwards until he meets the force field closest to the side Vincent and Cloud are on.

"Look at his eyes," Vincent says tightly, and Cloud does.

"He doesn't look...human," Cloud notes, feeling oddly detached. He can see the bloodlust clearly on the man's face, a sort of madness that's implacable.

"That's what this arena does to the fighters. It makes them dark. They stop being men, and they become monsters." Vincent meets Cloud's eyes for a long moment before a booming voice from the arena draws them back.

"Shall I spare him?" Black bellows to the crowds, a foot on Green's chest keeping him from moving. "Shall I part him from his beloved sword hand? Or shall I kill this miserable beast to spare him his humility?"

The crowds respond in a variety of ways, blending into a cacophony that nearly forces Cloud to cover his ears. Black grins, his teeth a wicked flash of white beneath his helmet. Cloud forces himself to watch as he plunges his sword into Green's unprotected neck, but the sound of his death is lost to the demands of the crowd.

Spectators surge forward as Black steps away, panting, still bloody from the wounds Green had awarded him. The force fields stop them from entering the arena. Vincent takes Cloud by the wrist in his clawed hands and swiftly leads him away. Leaving is much easier than getting in.

Monsters, Cloud repeats to himself, well after they're in the safety of Vincent's home. Men turned into monsters. Vincent had said it made people dark, and the worst thoughts flits across Cloud's mind. The one-winged angel could be in the Coliseum, he might be able to find him that way.

He decides he's going to compete, and Vincent is unsurprised. What he doesn't tell Vincent is that he's partially doing this for the fame. Maybe, if his name got popular enough through the universe, Cid or Squall might hear about him and come find him. And that's worth risking his life a few times.


	8. hephaestus

The black feather alerts him before the voice does.

Without warning, the world shifts around him and suddenly he's alone in the street, the sky still setting above him. Opposite him stands a man with that silver hair and a single black-feathered wing. He turns just as his initial feather hits the ground, his eyes luminescent even in the dim lighting. They're near identical to his own, the same angled shape and steel blue color.

Cloud doesn't break eye contact and he doesn't step back, but his mind is assaulted with visions from dreams that don't belong to him - he sees village fires and battlefields, death and chaos. He sees Aerith speared with a sword as easily as a blunted knife cuts through butter. The anger burning in his heart jumps to the surface with surprisingly speed, and the name is thrown into his head with the force of a meteor crashing to the earth.

"Sephiroth," he whispers. The angel's face flickers at the recognition, but does no more. "I've been looking for you."

Sephiroth holds his arms wide open. "And here I am." He steps to Cloud silently, his boots not so much as clicking against the tiled street. Cloud's hand shoots to the sword at his waist, gripping the pommel so it digs into his palm.

"Who are you?"

Like a predator, Sephiroth moves deliberately. He pauses, calculating his response before it leaves his mouth. If his movements make Cloud nervous, his sudden pauses drive him wild. "Your king in your home world spoke of the light and the dark in one's heart. They coexist. To put it simply: you have a light out there somewhere, Cloud. But I?" He tilts his head, silver hair shifting in the low light. Cloud knows what he's going to say, but the impact isn't lost when he finishes, "I am the dark."

He grips his sword tightly; Sephiroth reaches for his as well. "I felt it was time for a proper introduction," he continues. His voice doesn't linger in the air, despite the emptiness of the street. "It's impolite to fight at a first meeting, isn't it?"

_Like that's going to stop me_ , Cloud thinks, gritting his teeth. His darkness stands before him, a physical manifestation; not a Heartless, but a part of him that escaped. The particulars of it crowd the back of his thoughts, clamoring in a steady mumble he can't dismiss. "Who said I was polite?"

"Certainly not me." Sephiroth doesn't draw his sword. He fluffs his wing absently, looking up at the steadily darkening sky. "It's almost time for me to leave. I'll leave you with a parting gift." He snaps his finger; Cloud winces in spite of himself. Behind Sephiroth, two men melt from the shadows, moving unnaturally. Their eyes aren't yellow yet, but they must be close to becoming Heartless. The darkness is almost pungent.

Sephiroth is striding towards Cloud. The air doesn't move as he stops in front of him, looking Cloud head to toe. "I'd get a new sword," he comments lightly. "That one won't last you long." He steps past him, but when Cloud looks back, he's vanished with only a feather to indicate he'd been there at all.

In front of him, the two men are starting to approach, stepping closer into the torchlight. Their eyes gleam and bulge unnaturally, and they step as if the motion is new to them. Cloud recognizes the faces from the "man wanted" posters spread about town; they're low-level gangsters that prey on the unsuspecting.

Cloud's not going to be unsuspecting.

He names them mentally Thing 1 and Thing 2, because these are not men before him. Warped by the darkness, they move at unbelievable speeds, but Cloud's been fighting the unbelievable for a while now. Thing 1's sword catches on the hilt of Cloud's, and before he can even register the attack, Cloud has twisted the sword from his enemy's hand with a sharp jerk. He shoves him back with the flat of his blade, and Thing 1 stumbles with an almighty crash into the fruit cart behind him, spraying juice and splinters of wood.

Thing 2 is stronger, but Cloud manages to disarm him all the same with a slash at his hand. That doesn't stop Thing 2 from coming at him with fingers that resemble claws, raking the skin of Cloud's forearm as he reflexively blocks. It's the first blood of Cloud's that's been drawn; he's angry now. The steel of his sword bites into Thing 2's chest as he slashes, carving a triangle in the man's chest until he falls to the ground near the ruins of a cart that house Thing 1.

Cloud steps back, checking his wound and catching his breath. Thing 1 rises like the dead from the cart, and if Cloud weren't in the middle of fighting these men, the sight of him covered in grape skins and crushed olives would've been amusing.

They leap together, hands turned to claws, and Cloud finds they nearly overwhelm him. He's aware that he's parrying blows at lightning speed, and he feels teeth clamp into his arm at one point; before long he's struggling to breathe, backing further and further down the street, frustrated shouts accompanying each swing of his sword.

Red lightning crackles along his arms as he gets angrier, the air condensing with power. With a powerful slash, both Things are driven back, their eyes gleaming gold. Cloud, huffing, steps towards them, too focused to be startled by the newfound energy coursing through his veins. He shakes his head to rid his left eye of the droplets of blood obscuring his vision from a nasty scratch on his forehead. Thing 1 and 2 pause, slowly backing up as Cloud steps towards them.

The wing sprouts at the worst moment, crippling him. He cries out, blinding pain erupting from his left shoulder in a torrent of heat. It rips free of him with a sickening crunching noise. Cloud drops to one knee, dropping his sword to clutch at this new wound. When his vision clears, pain dulling, he glances at this new growth.

It's pitch black and demonic. The bone and joint are solid enough, but the skin of the flaps are translucent. It flutters and stretches, and he finds that it doesn't take much training to have it obey his will. Cloud picks up his sword before he stands, looking at the Things, who are regarding him with absent expression. "You really want a fight?" he snarls. The wing snaps to its full length.

The energy hisses, and before the Things can even register it, Cloud's hurtling at them at speeds unmatchable. Thing 1 is smashed into the side of a building, the human inside the creature gasping at the sudden pain. Thing 2 fights; Firaga spells miss by inches, setting the entire street ablaze. For the retribution, Thing 2 gets a hilt to the face, slamming him into the ground and sending him skidding a good distance, ripping up tile in the wake. Cloud lowers himself so he can walk, approaching the dying remains of what used to be an ordinary human. He stares into the eyes, flickering yellow now, light fading all the same. 

_I can leave them for the Heartless,_ Cloud thinks, his first coherent thought since the wing appeared, _or I can kill them now and save the rest of the worlds the trouble._

Thing 2, with his crushed nose and half-Heartless eyes, doesn't look much like a human anymore. He kills them both quickly and leaves them in the marketplace, tucking his wing in close to his person.

He leaves the fire burning. Like a sword, in fire he was forged.

Cloud doesn't return to Vincent's home that night, but spends the hours before dawn resting and healing. The wing is still there in the morning, but he doesn't move it much; it grinds against his shoulder blade, which just reminds him it's not supposed to be there at all. He touches it carefully, but the skin is warm and the bone is solid. It's a physical reminder of what he did, of what he's become. 

There's an empty feeling in his chest that he hadn't felt since he'd first arrived in Thebes. He ignores it for the time being.

"You look different," Vincent notes as Cloud returns the next morning. His tone is casual, as if his friends just casually sprouted wings all the time. _I feel different_ , he mentally retaliates, and locks himself in his room for the entire day.


	9. hera

Cloud enters the competitions that are easiest for him to compete in. There's some nonsense about getting licensed that he has to do first, but after that he's set to go. It keeps him sharp and each fight earns him munny, so he's not complaining.

He's home due to an injury - a blow to his left hand fractured several of the bones within, so he hadn't shown up to the last few battles. Better he forfeit a few matches than risk losing the hand entirely. He returns to his shared home after a trip to the market one day and finds the house empty - which, in itself, is not entirely unusual. Seeing Vincent's cloak folded on the front table, however, is a little more out of the ordinary.

The red fabric is neatly folded into a square, the clasped neck of the cloak on top. A scrap of paper sits on top, covered in scrawl. Cloud picks it up, frowning.

" _Cloud,_

_I had to go, but I thought you could use something new. Keep the house upright._

_-V_

One of Vincent's clawed gloves sits off to the side, and up against the wall is a massive single-edged sword. It's clearly seen the heat of battle - the metal is covered in dings and scratches, the blade wrapped in raggedy linen bandages. One edge is flat and dull; the other, razor sharp. Cloud is surprised by how light it is - the sword is slightly shorter than he is, but the grip is two-handed. It feels proper in his hands, though he's going to have to adjust his fighting to compensate for the length. He'll have to figure out a way to carry the sword, too - he can't just walk around with this in his hand.

He already wears pauldrons in combat, but with the cloak, he only wears one. It settles behind his shoulders and acts as a cape, flows around him like water. In battle, he moves fast enough that enemies will slash out at whatever they see moving, and often times that means his cape is the object that's getting hit. It's remarkably durable.

Cloud will miss Vincent, but he's sure as hell his gear will come in handy. Using it is the least he can do to honor him, anyway.


	10. zeus

In the final rounds of this tournament, it's raining.

His last opponent is huge, towering over him. His armor is bronze, and he doesn't wear a helmet. Despite the warrior's sluggishness, the lack of visual impairment means Cloud's usual tricks don't work, and he's forced to rely on his speed to gain the upper hand. He sidesteps a swing from Bronze's blade and goes in for a slash to the front, but suddenly he's cut off.

Bronze's hands move quickly, grabbing Cloud's neck and hoisting him into the air. It presses the clasp of the cloak against his windpipe. Cloud's hands immediately try to tug him free, struggling to free up his source of oxygen. Bronze grins at him and squeezes, ignoring Cloud's kicking legs and desperate attempts to yield.

As his vision starts to go fuzzy, Cloud lashes out with his clawed hand and is satisfied to feel it rip through skin. Bronze grunts and releases him; Cloud lands wrong on one of his legs, but quickly retrieves his sword from where he'd dropped it. Bronze takes a deep breath, wiping the blood off his face. The energy in the air sizzles before Bronze lets out his breath.

It comes out as fire.

Despite the rain and general humidity, the whole area is doused in flame, licking up the sides of the magical barrier. Cloud sees the bloodlust in Bronze's eyes, a dull sort of twinkle that sends shivers up his spine. Every time he gets close, Bronze breathes more fire at him, forcing him to keep his distance and risk small, quick slashes.

Cloud braces himself, breathing hard. His throat aches and his breath comes ragged, lungs filling with acrid smoke. He can feel the red lightning returning, wrapping around his forearms as he blocks blows from Bronze's sword. This time when the wing sprouts, he's ready.

Bronze doesn't see it coming. He slams into him with all the force he can muster, attacking from all different angles. Bronze's breastplate falls away as his sword cuts through the leather straps, but he doesn't yield, breathing fire at his near-invisible assailant. Cloud feels his cloak catch fire as he delivers what he hopes will be the final blow, slamming Bronze into the barrier as he touches back to the ground.

Cloud stands before him, sword dripping with rain and blood. When the lightning strikes, he sees his silhouette cast over his opponent - a man with a burning cloak and a demon wing, sword poised to kill. Bronze grins, teeth coated in blood; Cloud's cloak masks his grimace. The bronze warrior's death is as quick as Cloud can make it. The encounter with Sephiroth had given him one useful thing and one useful thing alone: the stomach to kill.

He stamps out his cloak before leaving the arena.

He receives his trophy and large sum of munny on the top step of the bleachers, where he and Vincent had once witnessed a match years earlier. As the proctor names him the victor, to some cheers, Cloud looks over the crowd; people from different worlds are starting to emerge, he can tell by the unusual clothing dotting the crowd. He sees the pom-pom of a Moogle in the crowd, and his heart leaps into his throat - Moogles lived in Hollow Bastion.

If they bring the news of his victory back to the other survivors from the Bastion, they might know it's him. And they might send Cid in one of his ridiculously colored ships. Cloud swallows hard, but eventually waves at the crowds before he's escorted away from the arena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> filler chapters ahoy! don't worry, there won't be many.


	11. dionysus

In the cage where they rest before they battle, they're provided grapes, clean bandages, and wine. Cloud normally relies on potions and the such; today he's almost out.

He has half a potion left and a gaping wound on his thigh. The damage has been done; when he peels away that section of his pants, sticky with blood, he finds it's deeper than he expected. The potion will maybe seal up the wound, but not do much else.

Survival instincts kick in; Cloud cuts out a piece of his cloak, bites down on it, and dumps half the flagon of wine over his wound. Fire rips through his entire leg and his teeth come close to shredding the fabric from his cloak. He pours the potion down his throat and is pleased to see the wound seal itself up, despite the fact that the entire leg feels numb to him.

To get the clinical taste of the medicine from his mouth, he takes a swig of the wine. Rather than sliding down his throat, it burns. The taste left is vaguely fruity and bitter, nothing at all like the champagne he'd been allowed to sip back at home.

That was years ago, though, and the memory is nothing but a faint glimpse at the back of his mind. He stands shakily, leaning on his good leg. (He makes a note to keep that leg protected for a time; having the wound reopen would not be pleasant.) He draws his sword from its latch on his back and uses it as a cane, the point in the dirt; he doesn't have any more matches today, which is something of a relief.

He takes the wine with him before he leaves. It leaves a pleasant buzz that seems to mask the conscience in the depths of his mind.


	12. poseidon

The sound that accompanies the memory of Hollow Bastion in his mind is running water.

Perhaps the most notable feature is the rising falls that the castle is built upon, a sign of the magic rooted deep within the world. They use the rising falls, as well as the regular falls spread out over the cliffs, to generate much of the world's power. Water is kept in reservoirs in the city, and to keep the city-wide plants healthy, it's filtered through channels built into the structures, ruts and canals that trickle from reservoir to reservoir. It's impossible to escape the babble. They used to spend hours by the fountains, listening to the running water and chatting and fooling around.

So Cloud rents a horse and rides down to the bays of Thebes, finds himself a solitary stretch of beach, and stays there for a few hours.

Waves sound different. They crash and churn sporadically, whereas the Bastion was alive with the constant dripping. It reminds him that some things never change, that water will always be surging over itself and if he doesn't listen too hard, he can pretend he's home. He practices his stances and lunges for a while. Once he's worked out a fair bit, he lays down on the beach and puts his hands over his eyes and listens to the waves, letting the water lap around his boots.

The daydreams have gotten less frequent, but he allows them to return while he lays there. The green and pink flood his vision yet again.

He hasn't relaxed in a long time. It's about time he gave himself a break. Thebes may be a long way from home, but he's been here for seven years, if the seasons of this world are anything to go by. It's actually sort of pleasant.


	13. artemis

Sometimes, he walks the streets at night.

The sun sets, the shops close, the children head home, and still Cloud remains. He stays tense as he strolls along, prepared to pull his sword free from its holster at a moment's notice. The Heartless thrive in the night, thought most of the time they attack the animals in the stables - that many beating hearts in a flimsy building is practically irresistible to them.

One night, they walk right past him.

A ghostly black horse canters on by, footsteps silent on the ground. Its eyes glow gold, wings branded with the blazing emblem of the Heartless, but it pays him no mind, passing him without so much as a glance. Several Shadows follow, along with various Heartless-turned animals. Not a single one acknowledges him. Another one of the horses brushes his shoulders, sending shivers down his spine, but they do not attack.

They treat him like one of their own.

Cloud allows his muscles to relax. He watches the Heartless pass in their silent hunt, whispering through the streets. His wing, still perched on his back from the tournament the other day, flutters once, but tucks itself tightly against his back after making its presence known.

Knowing that he's now a creature of the dark, Cloud patiently waits for the pack of Heartless to pass and feels nothing.


	14. hades

He's sharpening his sword when the heat sets in.

In the cage where he waits for the crowds to disperse, it's already humid and sticky. Cloud has long since adjusted to the weather here, after almost nine years, but this heat is stifling. It chokes him even when he pushes his cloak away from his mouth. He sets his whetstone next to him on the bench and looks around, scowling.

The Heartless materialize from the shadows, but Cloud doesn't flinch. He stands, his beat-up sword firmly in hand, and though the Heartless don't seem to look his way, he's prepared to bolt if he needs to. Instead, the Heartless step to the side as a figure waltzes in, bringing a haze of smoke and heat with him.

"Hey, how ya doin'?" the gravelly voice asks, and a face leans forward through the smoke. He's blue all over, flames serving as his hair. His smile makes Cloud think of a dog baring its teeth in a fight to seem more intimidating. "Hades, Lord of the Dead. You might've heard of me."

Cloud assumes his automatic defensive pose, mouth covered, body language neutral. "In passing, maybe."

"Ah, you've got wit! I like that. We'll get along, you and I." Hades takes to pacing; the Heartless stand outside of his radius like guardians. The smoke follows him wherever, but Cloud mentally attributes that to his fire hair. "Well, y'see, I've got this...plan. We all make plans, right? This one just happens to have taken a few years to set up, and, well, it's got some trouble coming along the way.

"I've tried everything, y'know - magic potions, attempted assassinations, repeated assaults from deathly Underworld monsters...to no avail." Hades sighs from behind Cloud, his breath steaming up the metal of his pauldron from a distance. "So I figured hey, why not try someone mortal?"

"Get to the point," Cloud says.

"I'm getting there! Basically, I just need a competent guy who can kill someone for me."

"Who?"

"Oh, just...Hercules."

Cloud scowls at Hades as he returns to his field of vision. "You mean that new hero. The one who took down the Hydra."

"The very same."

"And the Nemian Lion."

"Just a fur ball, that one."

"Was the Cretan Bull 'just a fur ball' too? And the Stymphalian Birds?"

"All right, all right!" Hades briefly flares red, lighting up the entire cage. Even the Heartless shy back. Hades lets out a slow breath and smooths down his fire hair, gradually returning to his original color. "So you've heard of the guy. Seen him fight?"

"A few times. He's hard to miss."

"Right, right. You're an astute guy, you fight a lot. I've seen you go at some of the best warriors Thebes offers up, huh? You always exploit weaknesses. It's smart, that's what it is. Tell me you can't see a weakness on that guy."

Cloud falls silent. Hades did not have the best reputation among the Thebans - the respect he had was more out of fear than it was admiration. The very fact that the Heartless were here rang all sorts of alarms in Cloud's mind, his heart thrumming unusually hard. Every instinct told him to lie. "He adapts well. It can be hard to figure out."

"C'mon, Cloudy, we both know that's not true." The god leans down to Cloud's eye level, forcing eye contact. Cloud makes himself keep looking. "Well, liar or not, you're good enough for me," Hades concedes, pulling back. He waves his hand in the air and a scroll of parchment appears, covered in miniscule writing. Cloud takes it from the air. The Greeks here all write on tablets and stone; this is entirely unusual.

"As you can see, I am a god," Hades continues as the swordsman reads, frowning. "I can offer lots, y'know. Fame. Fortune. Money. Anything you might need. You'd be surprised how much gold I find in the earth, bud. You want proof? Read the contract. I can get anything worldy, some unwordly. Potions. Swords. Women. Armor. Take a look at this."

He snaps, and a helmet materializes out of the smoke surrounding him. "The Helm of Darkness. My personal favorite. Put it on, it turns you invisible. Neat, right? And all sorts of cool things show up when people bite the big one." Another snap, and suddenly an array of swords are laying before Cloud on the ground. He leans closer to examine them; they're certainly unique, but showed signs of mistreatment and poor maintenance.

"They're used."

Hades shrugs. "Sue me. I can do better if you'd like. I've claimed lots of heroes." Another wave of his hand produces a quill, which he tucks in Cloud's un-clawed hand. "So whaddya say? Gonna sign?"

"What do I get for it?"

"Depends. I gave you a list. What do you want?" Hades steeples his fingers. He's getting impatient, Cloud can tell. He thinks on the question just to make the god stew, but it hits him that he has a lot he could ask for. He could go home. He could see all his friends again. He could stop fighting after killing this demigod and retire wealthy.

But when he thinks of him, of his dark angel, it shuts all thoughts out. How can he go home happy when his dark half is running rampant? People had died because of him, and so many more people would. He can find the light later - this is marginally more important. He apologizes mentally to Aerith and the rest. Cloud grits his teeth, his hand curling into a fist around the quill. "I'm looking for someone."

Hades gives him a shit-eating grin. "And I can find them for you. You just gotta sign, buddy."

"And I only have to kill Hercules?"

"That's what it says, even in the fine print. I just want the guy dead, I'm not pulling your leg here."

They meet each other's eyes for a few unflinching moments. Cloud abruptly turns his eyes to the document, scanning it briefly before signing the very bottom. As soon as he crosses the 'f' in his last name, the scroll vanishes. Hades snaps and the Heartless disappear. "Pleasure doin' business with you. We'll be in touch."

And he fades into the darkness.

Cloud stands silently for a few seconds, staring at the ground where Hades had just stood. A bitter taste on his tongue told him that maybe this wasn't the best idea, but what choice did he have? That was an Olympian, a god, a deity of the very people milling around the town he'd lived in for close to a decade.

He picks up his whetstone and sits back down, running it along the edge of his sword. He imagines the blade slicing off Sephiroth's wing, ripping him open from shoulder to hip. Desperate times call for desperate measures, after all. And how many mortals in the myths had made deals with gods to achieve their means? It's not completely unheard of.

Cloud walks from the cage into the sun. In the sights of the gods, he pledges he's going to kill Sephiroth and find his way home, no matter that the cost. Cape trailing behind him, Cloud strides across the arena. He knows what he has to do now.

Within the next few weeks, Hades gets him signed up for the biggest tournament yet. He acquaintances himself with the new alliance and moves through the seeds quickly - the combatants are now entirely Heartless. He cuts through them with ease, barely pausing to heal between rounds. He notes that the dark energy is easier to tap into, that the wing comes and goes with barely more than a thought.

As he's leaving the arena that day, he sees that the satyr's training some kid for the games. It hadn't occurred to him that some other human might try to enter; the threat of becoming a Heartless is too great. As he passes the kid, he sees that he's more a teenager, dressed in fashions unusual to the world.

They lock eyes. Cloud can feel this kid's strength in just this single glance, his light so bright it's almost blinding. He hadn't ran into someone so untainted since he'd left home.

 _At least I won't have to kill that kid_ , he muses, easily stepping over the rope that keeps undesirables from the stands. His claw taps nervously against the side of his leg as he waits for his next rendezvous with Hades. After all, he does have a Greek hero to kill later that day.


End file.
